


I Hate You

by Inventivetic



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Study, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Experimental, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inventivetic/pseuds/Inventivetic
Summary: After losing the 5th Bird Awards, DJ Grooves gets a drink.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a character study for these two. Don't know if I still like the characterization I brainstormed, but it's been sitting in my drafts for a while and I wanted to at least APPEAR active.
> 
> Any/all warnings are in the tags. You've been warned.

Fifth year in a row and the poor sap lost _again_. And he looked so pathetic about it too, all alone and hunched over the bar like he was at a funeral. The conductor wanted to leave, but he had become awfully close to winning this year and the Conductor had come too far to be bested now: maybe this could be resolved peacefully.

As he approached, the extent of his intoxication became clearer. One flipper was out of the sleeves of his jacket which dwarfed a mug of frothing yellow, fizzling liquid. His feathers were ruffled, the blue and white of his plumage like clashing waves.

“Hello, Grooves,” The conductor purred, settling beside him on a stool. He looked up, chin on the table, his oil-drop eyes were surprisingly wide and bright, “good workmanship out there—“ _You will never amount to anything, quit godamn it. Quit, “_ —I admired the…err, the acting…”

“You don’t—Y’are… You’re lying. Liar.” He slurred, raising his head to bring the cup to his lips. The conductor tried not to smile.

“I’m going to be direct, Grooves. I knew you’d be here,” He said, “you were verrryy close to winning, you know, ye ‘ol peck neck.” Grooves swayed when he sat up straight, looming at him the best he could in his state. He said nothing, looked away, and The Conductor observed him.

“I know what it’s like to have false hope, you know. It’s not exactly the same, but…” He paused, and recalled the smell of bleach. He hated it, almost ordered a drink right there, but he knew that if he started he probably wouldn’t be able to stop for the night, “my daughter was really sick, and… we thought she was pregnant again. We were wrong. Then we thought she was getting better… I was wrong a second time. But you described your movies as…as yer child once, so I figured you’d understand…” He looked up hopefully, beneath his brow.

_Have a heart, damn it._

Grooves’ eyes seemed to shine, “I heard you talk about her once or twice.”

“Once or twice? Owls usually tell me to shut my pecking mouth, Grooves!” He laughed and shook his head, but it sounded unnatural even to him. His palms itched. He wanted a drink in his hand. He wanted a knife in his hand, “It’s just a shame I don’t get to see the little ones more often…”

Grooves hummed thoughtfully, “I thought she didn’t want you influencing them—” The conductor’s head snapped to attention, but then he noted the slumped posture, the slack expression… and felt his face heat up, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He relaxed. He imagined himself looking similar and clenched his fist, hoped the bartender didn’t notice that it smelled like cigarette smoke.

“Ah, well…you know, the medicine…it makes the poor chickedee say things she don’t mean. …So much pecking money, too, and it seems I have to pick between a zombie and a…well.” He said, looking away.

“It... _work_ does keep you away from them, regardless, anyway…so what’s…what’s her issue?” He said.

“I’m not away from them that often,” He replied conversationally, tapping his fingers against the bar, “they need groceries since she can’t really shop for them and all. And a babysitter. God forbid we leave the poor children alone.”

“That’s strange…”

“Hm?"

“I just figured she was...their safety...” Grooves gestured to Conductor’s whole body, “with your temper and all. And your…condition.” He gestured to the burnt spot on the wooden bar where his hand had been.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” He hunched in on himself, tried to force himself to be calm, but his hands only grew warmer, the end of his feathers seared.

“Don’t get fussy!” He said, “I’m just saying, it's not unusual for birds with tempers to hit—“

“ You implying that I’d _HIT_ my daughter, you PECK NECK?” He stood up, his shoulders square. The people around them grew quiet. DJ Grooves tried to stand up to his full height, but his legs were like jelly and his entire body wobbled. The Conductor has brandished a knife, and a murmur arose from the people that had gathered around them as they stumbled back away from the two birds.

Grooves surged forward with one step—

—he almost fell. He kneeled on the floor.

The circle around them was beginning to close further, and he’s sure he heard the word _security_.

He took a few steps forward, his knife dissipating into smoke as he extended his hand. When Grooves took it, he yanked him forward and leaned into his ear.

“If you remember this, peck neck, I want you to know… I was going to offer you a place on _my_ films, but I see what you are now. A wolf in penguin’s clothing. A peck neck like you would never consider expressin’ a shred of kindness if it meant you weren’t getting paid.” He let go and Grooves fell back.

He turned around, hastily making his way to the exit, which was easy now that the crowd part for him.

Dj Grooves, when offered a paw, stood up easily and tugged at his vest. “I suppose none of you got that on video.” He said unhappily, voice crisp and clear, as he stood and walked away.


End file.
